


Rome

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Licking, M/M, Polyamory, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrennenimus IV semi-imposes strange customs on the landing party, much to Spock’s chagrin and Kirk and McCoy’s delight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rome

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The people of Mrennenimus IV are nothing short of fascinating. In some ways, they’re very much like many of the other humanoid species the Enterprise has had the privilege of meeting, and in others... they’re mildly baffling.

The way they handle water sources, for example, is, to say the least, very curious. Most of the water on the planet is kept inside a multitude of ‘host’ plants adorning almost every building. The king’s home—a broad, low dome encompassing half the countryside—is particularly littered with them. The vine-like fauna climbs several posts throughout his home, parted around where curtains are hung—the room separation of choice. There are no solid walls within the building. The landing party’s already been allotted a room for the night, as the weather outside isn’t exactly ideal conditions for a shuttle. The evidence of the storm is still quite visible past the translucent, sloped ceiling, although no sound makes it through. Their room is only a few steps away from where they are now, where the king is explaining some of their odder customs to Jim and Leonard.

Spock is a few paces away, examining one of the plants with his tricorder. The plant is mostly a natural occurrence, but it does show traces of slight DNA alteration. Doubtless manipulation around this water-carrying intention. The Mrennenimus people obviously hold this plant in great esteem—they have the patterns of its unusual webbed leaves adorning many of their clothing. The king has these patterns appearing all throughout his silvery sash: the mark of his royalty. He, like all of his people, has greyish, dotted skin, with great twisted ears and pointed, exaggerated facial features. Not unlike an Earth gargoyle, according to Leonard. They have particularly long tongues and thin, flicking tails that remind Spock of cats, similar to the one his mother briefly had as a child. Many of their customs seem intoned along this cat theory. Much more so than ‘gargoyles,’ anyway.

Spock’s just about to put his tricorder away, noting the interesting results with a subtly raised eyebrow, when the plant suddenly emits a sharp, high pitched ring. A split second later, its leaves peel back and a thick, yellow-clear liquid shoots out of its pores, splattering Spock from head to foot. A bit of it gets on the corner of his mouth, and he can’t help but get a taste. It’s similar to honey. 

Spock turns with a helpless sort of bewilderment to his captain and doctor, who, inevitably, burst into laughter at him. 

The king immediately splutters an apology. “I avm so sorry, dvear sir,” he trills in his strange accent, garbled through the translator. “It is a harvmless spray, I assure you. Simply a defense mechanisvm. Nothing to worry about.”

Jim’s laughing so hard that he actually wipes at his eyes. Spock doesn’t find the situation nearly so amusing. He places his tricorder on a nearby table, deferring to the instructions of his commanding officer. Clearly, he is no longer fit for duty. He can feel the stuff clinging to his bangs and seeping through his shirt. It’s slightly cool, but not unpleasant. Well, the embarrassment is unpleasant. Spock’s deliberately not looking at Leonard’s face, which is sure to be in a smirk. 

“Maybe we should retire early,” Jim suggests, trying to stifle a snort. “Are there baths in our rooms we could perhaps use?”

“Baths?” the king repeats oddly, his head leaning forward like it does any time they’re presenting him with new information. “What is thivs thing?”

“Baths,” Jim repeats, eyebrows now scrunching together. But the universal translator must not be doing any better than before, because the king still looks lost. “Er, how about a shower, then?”

“Sho... wwwevr,” the king repeats again. 

“Water to clean our companion off,” Leonard interjects. “You know; how you get clean?”

Evidently, the king doesn’t know. His head pulls back, and he smiles brightly, hands clasped in front of him. “Ah! Yes. Yes, he will neevd to be cleaned. Why do you not simply lick him?”

“What?” Jim says flatly. Leonard and Spock clearly mirror the sentiment. Spock’s standing very rigidly, all too aware of just how much of him is covered in the stuff. Leonard looks over at him while Jim stares at the king, who looks as though this is a perfectly ordinary suggestion.

“Lick him clean. Grooming. Is thivs not how it is done on your worlvd?” 

“It mostly certainly is not,” Leonard answers on all of their behalves. 

“Nonsense! Thivs is how it is done—we have no other way. It is a big job, yes, but thevre are two of you; surely you will be able to clean him.” Somewhere in the distance, a sound like a gong chiming breaks into the air. “Ah! The time of sleevp is near. Do it now. I know much of thivs. I will guide you.” He holds both hands out towards Spock: Mrennenimus’ version of finger pointing. Spock finds it no more pleasant than the human version. 

It’s even more uncomfortable with two hungry boyfriends eyeing him. The fact that their relationship might be a little more than professional outside of their profession is irrelevant. They’re on duty right now, on record. In public. Spock is not about to be _licked clean_ in public. He knows there’s no hope trying to bargain with Leonard, so he looks Jim firmly in the eyes and says, “That is _absurd_.”

“Come on, Spock,” Jim answers easily, grinning too much for how ridiculous this situation is. “You heard him—there’s no other way.”

“You know what they say,” Leonard snickers. “When in Rome...”

If Spock wracked his brain enough, he could probably figure out exactly what humans say about Rome. However, at the moment, he’s too busy backing up, except that that only puts his back against the pole and the plant. He quickly steps away from it again, closer to the two advancing Starfleet officers. “The Federation is very clear about this, Commander,” Jim reasons. “We are not to interfere and to comply with all new species’ customs where possible.”

“This is not possible,” Spock says: a mere bending of the truth. It’s not possible to get out of this with his dignity in tact. He has a feeling that if he says that, Leonard will point out that Spock usually claims to have no ego to bruise. This is an... odd situation.

“You heard him, Mr. Spock,” Leonard adds, and they’ve stepped apart so that they’re advancing on him from either side. “Rules are rules. You wouldn’t want to break a rule, would you?”

Spock looks back and forth between the two of them with something very near pleading in his eyes, though he would never admit it. But he has no choice. They’re right; it is regulation. Even if it’s highly illogical. Jim is the first to reach him, picking up his left hand, lifting his arm. Leonard grabs his right one. Spock doesn’t know where to look. Jim’s pink lips are parting, his ever-busy tongue darting out. Spock’s shamefully watched that sinful thing swipe over Jim’s lips too often, pop out to wet them or stay there during concentration, during thought. Jim’s very... active with his tongue. 

Leonard’s more conservative. Leonard’s lips are less experienced but more of a treat that way to have on him. Leonard’s tongue is larger and rougher, and it swipes a hard line straight down Spock’s palm. Jim’s smaller, lighter one trails across his lifeline. They both have firm hands around his wrists. He adamantly refuses to look at the king. Spock lets his eyes close. It’s just a normal grooming custom. Just a normal custom...

Jim’s tongue climbs his index finger, and Spock shivers. Jim separates Spock’s fingers next, drawing the middle and index one together, the way its done when Spock’s caressing one of his two _t’hy’la._ Then Jim’s mouth descends over the two fingers together, and Spock can feel every bit of that hot, wet cavern close around him. Spock’s fingers are heavy on Jim’s tongue. Jim’s lips are soft next to Spock’s knuckles. Jim sucks lightly and begins to piston on and off, essentially fucking his own mouth with Spock’s hand and forcing Spock to feel it. Spock has to fight to keep the green from his cheeks. He knows of Jim’s oral fixation. This shouldn’t be as erotic as it is. 

On his other side, Leonard’s roughly licking every bit of his fingers, diving into the grooves between them and lightly scraping teeth down his knuckles. This isn’t Leonard’s normal habit, but then, Leonard’s likely to take part in anything that degrades Spock, ‘puts him in his place.’ Spock knows that Leonard McCoy loves him. He does. But human love is... strange sometimes. 

Leonard nips at his thumb; Spock looks over from beneath half-lowered lashes. Smirking just like Spock knew he would be, Leonard curls Spock’s saliva-slicked fingers into his palm and holds them up, displaying Spock’s wrist. Leonard presses his mouth to Spock’s beating pulse and sucks, teeth pressing in hard enough to likely leave a mark. Leonard marks him too much. It’s dubious whether his uniform’s sleeve will be able to hide it. 

Jim draws his attention back by sucking on each of his fingers in turn, except his thumb, which is merely licked from every possible angle, until Spock’s fighting himself not to tremble. It’s so inappropriate but also so _good._ It shouldn’t be. They always manage to do this to him. Later, Leonard will surely tease him about being kinkier than he lets on. Then Jim will laughingly suggests that Spock merely follows everywhere Jim leads him, regardless of how sick or depraved. Spock will deny both while the pair descends on his body, playing him like a lute until his body sings...

This train of thought is entirely unproductive. Spock attempts to fight it. Leonard’s pushing his sleeve back. Jim’s kissing down over his wrist. Suddenly, they both stop. Spock glances quickly between them—they’re eying each other. 

In tandem, they drop his hands. They straighten out and lean forward, trapping him, encasing his body in their arms and pressing into his face. Jim laps at his cheek and Leonard nips down his jaw line, turning his head with one finger under his chin to kiss the tip of his nose. Jim kisses the side of it, and Leonard kisses the bridge. A deep growl comes out of Leonard’s throat—the same one that sounds right before he fucks Spock or Jim hard enough into the bed or floor or wall to leave bruises. He licks a hard line up Spock’s cheek, and somehow, it’s the raunchiest yet. 

Jim’s leaning up to place short, fluttering kisses above his eyebrow, and Spock barely manages to breathe, “I was not... I was not affected there...”

“Hush,” Leonard hisses. Jim chuckles, obviously agreeing. 

“Ah, but why not have a propevr cleaning while it is happevning?” the king suggests, ruining the moment by simply being there. Spock’s trying not to acknowledge that there’s a witness to his humiliation. 

By now, Jim and Leonard have made it down to his neck, nuzzling into it as much as they’re licking him, kissing him, taking small bites and just generally worshipping his body beyond any sense. It’s difficult to think straight like this. 

When they pull back, he almost wants to pull them in again. They look at each other across him. It’s as though they’re the ones with the telepathic abilities. Jim reaches out to hold Spock’s arms over his head, and Leonard begins to pull off Spock’s shirt.

“Captain—” Spock attempts to say, but he’s muffled by the fabric. 

“You cannot be cleaned propevrly with your shirvt on,” the king points out. Jim and Leonard take the black undershirt with the blue tunic, leaving Spock’s chest bare and shivering in the open air. It’s lukewarm, but he’s colder from all the places he’s coated in saliva and pseudo-honey, on patches across his body where it soaked through his clothes. Jim and Leonard both begin to lick along the lines of his shoulders, dipping down along his collarbone. Leonard seals his mouth around Spock’s adam’s apple and sucks while Jim descends down Spock’s chest. His nipple’s sucked into a warm mouth, the nub licked and prodded and rolled around until it’s hardening. Spock’s breath has hitched, bobbing in Leonard’s mouth. He feels bizarrely _good_.

Jim and Leonard have a way of doing that to him: ruining all his composure. When Leonard pulls back, he mumbles quietly across Spock’s skin, “Jim...”

Jim pulls off Spock’s nipple and nuzzles into it while he murmurs, “Yeah. Yeah... I know...” He sounds a little breathless. 

He straightens up, still half wrapped around Spock, and Leonard continues to ‘clean’ Spock off while Jim addresses the king. “I think we should probably take our room now.”

The king nods, just as a gong sounds in the background again. “Ah, yes! Yes, there is the time. I bivd you a pleasant night, Captaivn. ...If your comrade is not clean by the morvning, I will be happy to send help.” Spock stiffens in horror. Help. As in, other aliens licking him. 

Leonard chuckles, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, your highness. But thank you.”

“You’ve been a gracious host,” Jim agrees. “Good night.” He nods while the king turns to leave, and then he and Leonard are tugging Spock back, and Spock’s stumbling through a silken curtain.

He’s pushed a few more steps and shoved down onto a round bed, where Jim and Leonard both climb over him, looking down at his pants and clearly deciding that they shouldn’t be there. Spock’s throat is a little dry, and he tries one last time to reason with them, “Captain, Doctor—”

But he cuts off as two tongues stray down his stomach, Mrennenimus IV becoming suddenly more _fascinating_.


End file.
